Wrapper: San Andrés Negra
Binder: Brazilian Arapiraca
Filler: Nicaraguan, Honduran
Size: 5 x 50
Strength: Medium
Price: $10.00

Today we take a look at the Cavalier Genève Black Series Robusto.

BACKGROUND:
Release Date: February 2017
Manufacturer: San Judas Tadeo
Blended by Sébastien Decoppet
From the Cavalier Genève web site:
“The Black Series is a USA exclusive line from Cavalier Genève with a rich, complex and spicy flavor profile and solid medium bodied in strength. One cigar size from this line, the corona, only is available as a gift and is not made to reach the market. There is one exception to the unavailability of the Black Series in Europe, Rhein Cigars in Geneva which is standing as Cavalier Genève flagship store.”

SIZES AND PRICING:
Robusto 5 x 50 $9.00-$10.00
Toro 6 x 54 $9.50
Double Corona 7.5 x 52 $9.60

APPEARANCE:
Kind of a rag tag look to this cigar with a multi-colored wrapper that changes hues from light brown to teabag brown. Seams are totally exposed and fairly tight. No shortage of veinage and very lumpy and bumpy.
It also appears that if you look closely at the photos above, it has its own version of nipple hairs. Should have shaved it. The triple cap has a nicely done pigtail.

And then there is the big reveal…A classy black cigar band with a gold embossed horse named Maximum Security. Could be an omen. There it is…the big gold leaf 24 karat gold leaf diamond in pretty good shape as this cigar has some considerable humidor time. I’ve seen other reviews of this cigar and most of the gold leaf is pretty fakakta looking. I nailed a good one.

SMELL THE GLOVE:
Bold essences of sweet elements: Caramel, sweet cream, milk chocolate, mocha java, floral notes, malt, cedar, mild black pepper, barnyard, butterscotch, and then there are notes of cinnamon and nutmeg.
The cold draw presents flavors of chocolate Wheaties, café au lait, malt, black pepper, butterscotch, and cinnamon.

FIRST THIRD:
The draw is on the money so I get to put away my PerfecDraw draw adjustment tool for my next cigar.

The blend starts slowly with mild toasty moments of rye, brown sugar, creaminess, a rising to the occasion dollop of black pepper, cinnamon, floral, nutty, smoky oak, a mild milk chocolate, café au lait, and cedar.
Strength has a straight-ahead medium punch.

It doesn’t have the pizazz to start like yesterday’s review of the Diesel Whiskey Row Sherry Cask. That cigar blend came out blasting. This one is a lollygagger. It either uses the early platform to excel or it falls flat on its ass.

Can’t wait to get to smoke the gold leaf as I have heard it cures shyness and venereal warts.
Some mustiness appears. Nicht gut.

Then it disappears as quickly as it appeared and the blend blossoms; which is a big relief. It jumps from ordinary to possessing some real possibilities.

This blend appears to be a perfect morning blend. Easy on the brain so as not to cause irreversible hallucinogenic capabilities. You don’t want to end up….er…hang on…what was I saying?

Not much savory going on. As stated, a morning stick or a good after dinner smoke. The factors of chocolate, malt, nougat, creaminess, candied nuts (Penicillin won’t help…I tried), a generalized smokiness, and prune Danish…give this stick a very pleasant flavor profile. Not exciting but certainly not a Quorum or Gurkha.

I hope you took heed of my shameless pitch for my sponsor, Bespoke Cigars in yesterday’s review. These guys aren’t kidding around. While Jeremy Casdagli lives comfortably in Estonia fending off killer wart covered pigs that wander through the streets of Tallinn…the largest city in Estonia…and home to the greatest “Beer and Vomit Festival” in all of Eastern Europe. Gotta be the Russians’ fault.

Anyway, I was told if I don’t sell at least 1200 Bespoke cigars through Small Batch Cigar every week, Vlad the Impaler will use his skills as a wart hog assassinator to travel from his luxurious home in Santa Barbara, CA and force my head into the toilet, ala The Big Lebowski, until I finally admit I’m a little girl that needs to be spanked with a box of Bespoke Calicos. No one wants this; especially the film crew that follows me around for safety…they’re very squeamish. Buy some damn Bespoke cigars and use the 10% promo code: Katman. Save an old man from Estonian torture. I still want children.

The strength kicks up some dust by hitting medium/full as the smoke fills my nose and burns the remaining needed grey hairs from my nares.

Complexity begins to show its face. (What a puss). Transitions are minimal. The finish is lovely though…I taste my mother’s baked apples with all its caramelly goodness mixed with cinnamon and nutmeg. Delicious.

This is a medium body cigar blend. No notes showing acts of spectacular invention but still a good premium blend; which makes me ponder that PR trick of the gold leaf to get suckers like you and me to buy the cigar. You plant a gold diamond on the surface of the moon and I expect big explosions of flavor and excitement. So far, a pleasant and non-descript premium that does not stand out from the pack.

I expect a lot from $10 sticks. They should hit me squarely between the eyes and cause colonic distortion…a little known band from the 80’s that only made it big in Denver.

Foghat…”Slow Ride.” Damn, that is a great 70’s arena song.

SECOND THIRD:
Well, that was somewhat of an uneventful first third. Nice but no passion.

Because of its age, it may be one of those blends that doesn’t weather long time humidor time as it has a built-in expiration date. Doesn’t it make you nuts when you save a good cigar for a year or longer only to find out it died a miserable death 4 months earlier and the only attendant of the funeral was the Rocky Patel Cargo that someone gave you and you took gracefully and then just threw it in to your humidor; waiting for the chance to pass it on to the next chump.

There is loads of creaminess. And then followed by a somewhat limp list of flavors that don’t want to coagulate into a complex being…milk chocolate, malt, mild black pepper, nuts, a newly added candied lemon peel, and some baking spices.

Strength resumed its initial medium outing. Must have been a trick.

I’m now on the verge of declaring the Cavalier Genève Black Series Robusto an unimpressive blend.

Oh lord…not again…every review…Peter Frampton’s live version of “Show Me the Way.” Arrgghhh!!!! I once asked Peter Noone of Herman and the Hermits if he ever got tired of singing the same songs over and over after 50 years. He said no…it pays the bills. I think I’ll take “No Milk Today” over Frampton any day.

At the halfway point, the stick perks up a bit. Flavor enhancement seems to be in the works. It this is merely prick teasing me, I’m going to send a text to Cavalier Genève that says: “I want $65 billion dollars by noon tomorrow or I publish my review.”

Saved by Joe Cocker singing “Feelin’ Alright.” Yeah.

The burn is touching the hem of the gold leaf. I expect immediate healing of my damaged psyche.

I read some reviews that list a huge laundry list of flavors. I’d really like to know how long they allowed their review stick to simmer? Did I miss the audition?

I hit the gold diamond and my boxers explode into flames resulting in no need for a taint wax later this week.
Bottom line is that this is a very pleasant cigar but if I wanted just pleasant, I’d smoke a $5 catalog brand.

When you stick gold on your cigar, it better cause disorientation and excitement when it’s smoked. Don’t lay there like a flounder.
Maybe a better name would be Cavalier Genève Flounder Series Robusto?

Strength seems destined to hang tough at medium.
The spiciness is amiss as well. There is only the faintest hint of pepper in the back of my throat. I like a little more zing.

Construction is good. No burn issues. No runs. And a steady draw throughout.
As the gold goes up in flames, I can feel it tickling my ivories.

Chocolate and cream and the most present flavors at this time. The rest of the earlier list are merely background noise. Too bad. Oh wait, the gold is kicking in and I can see into the future…I never thought that Charlotte would have the strength to smother me with a pillow…especially while I’m watching TV. Huh.

The cigar got relatively decent ratings. I did see it given a 91. But I don’t see it.

LAST THIRD:
Double harrumph…I could have passed over this cigar review and no one would be the wiser but now that I’ve invested all this time, damn it…you’re going to read it. I have Vlad the Impaler’s cell phone number on speed dial.

Jimi…”All Along the Watchtower.” My favorite Hendrix song. Now I’m in the boogie mood.

Wait. There is improvement. Flavors come out from hiding. Strength resumes at medium/full. There is life I tell you, life! It’s alive.

I take my first sip of water and get the taste of green olives. WTF?

Speaking of the Milwaukee Bucks…yes, my dears, they will be the NBA champs.
Fans will be drinking Coors Light in the streets!

The Cavalier Genève Black Series Robusto is making a run for the finish line. The malt and creaminess are blissfully intense. Some nuttiness punches to the gut. Chocolate is light but institutional. The cigar wants to scream laughter but chokes on its own petard.

Figures…the cigar finally tastes like a premium cigar blend with 1-1/2” to go. Drat and double drat.

I noticed that some of our most esteemed reviewers chose not to review this blend and instead reviewed the Black Series II. Hmmm…I fucked up.

On the upside, not a hint of nicotine.

While I thought that the gold leaf would have healing powers of a shaman, I discover that the only thing that’s happened is my asshole slammed shut. I’m going to Google how to open it again. I sort of need it to work properly. So kids, just say no to gold leaf.

Mustiness returns…of course.

And we end with “Boris The Spider.” Totally appropriate.

Run out, my readers, and don’t buy this cigar.

Cigar companies never surprise me with the PR shtick they come up with. I can think of several boutique brands that would benefit if they would only stick a diamond of gold leaf or ½” lead on their cigars.
I’m done. Sigh.

RATING: 84

And now for something completely different:
1965 ~ Tel Aviv, Israel

I was 15. My grandfather took me to Israel and Europe for the summer. I had never left the country before this and getting those outdated typhus and cholera injections every Friday for 5 weeks was awful. I spent my weekends in bed with side effects.

First stop: Tel Aviv.
Man, it was HOT! Arizona hot. Palm Springs hot. And to make it even worse: Humid!
We were right on the Mediterranean Sea.
Kirk Douglas, Angie Dickinson, Yul Brynner, Frank Sinatra, John Wayne, and Topol were all in town for the filming of the historical drama, “Cast a Giant Shadow.”

This is the summary of the movie: “An American Army officer is recruited by the yet to exist Israel to help them form an army. He is disturbed by this sudden appeal to his Jewish roots. Each of Israel’s Arab neighbors has vowed to invade the poorly prepared country as soon as partition is granted. He is made commander of the Israeli forces just before the war begins.”

I have photos of all this but in some box in the basement.

We saw Yul Brynner speak at our hotel on the patio. We saw John Wayne and Sinatra at a bar.

And the best part…We were visiting the pre-opening of the Museum of the Holocaust. It was weeks away from its official opening but allowing tourists to get a free look. It was an enormous setting with several buildings.

110° outside and no shade. The buildings did not have running air conditioning yet. I was on a synagogue tour of about 50-60 people. Five of us were teens. So, we hung out with each other and did everything together.

None of us were used to the heat. There were vendors selling cold drinks. Coke and Pepsi had not yet landed in Israel yet and the only sodas available were the local stuff. There was this lemon lime stuff that tasted a little like 7-Up. So that’s what the vendors called it.

We were sweating like pigs. We were beginning to suffer from heat exhaustion. Stupidly, we told our parents or, in my case, my grandfather that we would stay longer and find our own way back to the hotel.
Now what are the odds of this? None of us had any money on us. Not an Israeli penny.

There were plenty of water fountains and none of them had been hooked up yet. Same in the bathrooms.
We were standing together stressing out when one of our group pointed a finger and said, “Look. There is Kirk Douglas.”

Well, shit. It was. He stood with a group of people. One of our group said we should approach him and ask to borrow a few Israeli Pounds so we could buy some sodas.

We all froze and then I made my move. I walked up to the group and interrupted them.
“Mr. Douglas…” I told him our sad story and how we were fellow Americans. I even promised him that we would pay him back. He laughed.

Without blinking an eye, he handed me a wad of dough and told us to go have a good time. We each bought two bottles of “7-Up” and slung them down like thirsty camels.

We had enough money to get something to eat from a vendor and then figured we had to get out of there. We took a bus back to the hotel.
We told our story to the group and no one believed us.

It was a fun month touring Israel. I got mugged once by Arab kids. We rode a boat on the Sea of Galilee, we saw buildings that were thousands of years old, and had two life threatening experiences.

The first was being rocked out of our beds at the King David hotel by explosives in the lobby. And at the Gaza Strip, some Palestinian terrorists tried to sneak across the border. We stood next to our tour bus as the Israeli Defense Forces opened fire into brushy weeds and turned them red with blood.

It was also the first time I had a girlfriend. Her name was Frieda and was Polish/American. Her parents survived Auschwitz and then moved to America where they became rich by owning a swanky apartment building in Beverly Hills.
(Frieda and I standing atop the Eiffel Tower):

I had my first make out session. And I copped my first feel. And it was caught on a dozen movie cameras as it took place in the back of the tour bus.

Young people should see the world, or at least a part of it. But even with high tensions in Israel and Europe in the 1960’s, it was nothing like today where carrying an American passport could mean your death if caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
That’s a shame.

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